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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23151664">a cure i know that soothes the soul</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/haloud/pseuds/haloud'>haloud</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crying, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Sex Pollen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:02:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,009</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23151664</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/haloud/pseuds/haloud</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A lab accident leaves Michael in a difficult way, and Alex helps like only he can.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Michael Guerin/Alex Manes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>212</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a cure i know that soothes the soul</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title comes from moment's silence by hozier</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Michael’s phone doesn’t even go to voicemail, so Alex calls him again. And again, getting the same nothing.  And Alex is just so on edge, hates it when Michael does this, when he ditches his phone like there’s no one who might try to reach him, who might <em>worry </em>when there’s a government conspiracy breathing down his neck.</p>
<p>He pounds on the airstream’s door a little too loudly, tries to check himself when he goes to knock again. Michael’s truck is there, so if he’s not inside he must be underground, and Alex isn’t leaving until he knows he’s okay. But before he can get to work moving the airstream to check, just as he turns away from the door with his jaw set and the beginnings of a tension headache behind his eyes, he hears a low, pained moan from inside.</p>
<p>Heart pounding against his ribs, Alex wheels back around. “Michael?” He shouts, straining for a response that doesn’t come, and Alex doesn’t wait, doesn’t waste time even trying the door—the lock has always been laughably easy to pick, so he just lets himself in, fear seizing him by the throat.</p>
<p>The scent hits him first, heavy and rich with sweat and sex and something else beneath it, something strangely floral. One breath makes Alex’s head spin.</p>
<p>“Michael?” He asks again, coming inside and letting the door fall shut behind him.</p>
<p>Another moan—he’s there, on the bed, facing the wall, hidden beneath a pile of blankets.</p>
<p>“Fuck!” Alex runs over to him in two strides, grabs a fistful of the blanket, jerks it aside to see Michael, if he’s hurt, if he’s sick, whatever it is he needs to help, to fix it—</p>
<p>“’Lex,” Michael croaks. “You—how—”</p>
<p>“You weren’t answering your phone. I was worried. Michael, what—”</p>
<p>Michael fights him when he tries to pull the blanket down further, but it’s a fight Alex wins. He drops it in shock, though, at what he sees, at the way Michael is curled around his abused-looking cock, dripping and red, the way he’s desperately working his fingers in and out of his hole, like nothing could possibly satisfy him. Michael grits his teeth around a sob and tries to turn as far as he can away from Alex, hissing in pain when the motion makes him move his hands.</p>
<p>“No, hey, hey.” Alex puts a knee on the bed, crawls half-over to him. “What’s happening? What can I do?”</p>
<p>“Accident in the l-lab. Sample from the Project, unmarked vial. Dropped it.” He sucks in a breath as a wave of trembling goes through him, so strong his knees come up to his chest. “You should g-go.”</p>
<p>“What? No!”</p>
<p>“Alex. <em>Go. </em>I can’t—you’re so—you smell like—” He takes another huge, shuddering lungful of air, and he has to reach back under the blankets again.</p>
<p>Alex climbs all the way onto the bed, grips Michael’s shoulder. He’s naked under the sheets; he’s sweat soaked through, burning hot to the touch. His cheeks are wet with tears, mouth twisted with pain, lips chapped from panting; he needs someone, someone to touch him, clearly, but someone to hold him through the tremors, someone to make sure he drinks water even if his legs are too weak to carry him. Alex <em>can’t </em>leave him, not like this. That strange smell, beneath the smell of <em>Michael </em>that makes his mouth water no matter the circumstances, it clings to everything, but to Michael’s skin most of all, and Alex wants to cover him up until it goes away, until he’s <em>safe. </em></p>
<p>“I’m not leaving you like this,” he says firmly, “I want to help you, but even if you don’t want me to touch you, I’m staying. Even if it’s just to get water and change the sheets. You’re <em>sick, </em>Michael, how could I leave you alone?”</p>
<p>“No, no, you shouldn’t have to—”</p>
<p>“I’m <em>choosing </em>this. Please, let me take care of you.”</p>
<p>“Why would you…why’re you even…how…” his voice starts to slur towards the end, and as Alex watches with mounting fear another spasm rocks him, and his voice cracks, crying out, coming more or less untouched, soaking the sheets again and sending another heady rush of scent into the air.</p>
<p>“Michael, <em>please.</em>”</p>
<p>And Michael sobs, so hurt and needy it <em>kills </em>Alex not to be holding him already, and Michael’s babbling even as he reaches for him</p>
<p>“You don’t have to, I can, I’ll be fine, you, Alex, you gotta know you don’t,”</p>
<p>“I know, Michael. I know, I promise,” Alex soothes, or tries to, in a voice all wobbly, and he swallows Michael’s frightened reassurances into a kiss, a gentle one, Alex cradling his head and rubbing his tight shoulders.</p>
<p>When Michael pulls away to take himself in hand again, Alex pulls away too, hurriedly strips off his clothes and then his leg, hesitating only a little as he puts it close by with the sock and liner draped over top. The airstream is narrow enough for him to make his way if he has to get up; this is the best option. It looks like they’re going to be in this bed for a while.</p>
<p>He turns back to Michael, then, who has the sheets by the fistful and is shaking through another orgasm that leaves him rock hard and crying.</p>
<p>“I’ve got you,” Alex repeats, stroking the nearest part of Michael to him, needing his hands on him at last, offering the only comfort that ever seems to stick. At his touch, Michael yelps like he’s been electrocuted, the sound high and distressed and tapering off on an animal whine.</p>
<p>“Please,” Michael yelps again, “Alex, Alex—hurts—”</p>
<p>Alex tries to be gentle, petting his skin, touching as soft as possible, but it doesn’t seem to help as Michael squirms in his arms, trying to get too close and trying to get away all at once, so Alex tries a different plan, and slides down his body—all he has to do is hold his hips still, then, and put his tongue to work.</p>
<p>At the first swipe of his tongue over Michael’s stretched hole, Michael <em>howls, </em>a drawn-out sound that cuts off at the end on a sob of relief. His shaking hands clench in Alex’s hair. He tastes like lube, but Alex easily ignores it, laving his tongue across and inside, sliding a finger in alongside to find and rub his prostate, pulling little yips of pleasure from Michael’s throat as he continues to squirm, throws one of his legs around Alex’s shoulders, pins him in place.</p>
<p>He adds another finger, leaves two inside him working and stroking and scissoring, and moves up to suck Michael’s red-hot dick into his mouth, salty and bitter and wet on his tongue. In minutes, Michael is spending again, nails raking across the back of Alex’s neck, his whole body curling up around him.</p>
<p>Alex swallows and sits up, gently dislodging Michael’s leg and replacing it around his waist, encouraging any part of Michael that wants them wrapped around each other. Michael pants, staring at him with huge, wet eyes with a wonder that has Alex crawling up to kiss him again, pet his tangled hair.</p>
<p>“Did that—do you feel any better?”</p>
<p>The look of soft awe fades into brow-twisting unhappiness again, and Michael throws his arm over his eyes and shakes his head. “Hurts.”</p>
<p>“What do you need?” Alex asks, nearly begs. He shifts closer, wraps his arm around Michael’s trembling stomach. “What else can I do? Michael—”</p>
<p>“You, need <em>you,” </em>Michael moans. He struggles out of Alex’s grip so he can roll over, slide his legs open, tilt his hips up, waiting and ready and already red and swollen from fingering himself for god knows how long—</p>
<p>“<em>Please,</em>” he moans, buries his face in the blanket underneath him, and lets out a muffled sob as his hips start to work involuntarily, humping against the thin mattress.</p>
<p>“Shh, okay, okay,” Alex says, palming his hips to hold him still enough. He slicks up, takes himself in hand to guide himself into Michael’s <em>achingly </em>hot core, to the tune of Michael’s shattered little <em>ah, ah, ah—</em>and it’s impossible to tell if he’s helping or hurting and it makes Alex want to fucking <em>scream. </em>He pulls Michael in close, positions them so he’s spooned up behind him—one of Michael’s favorite positions, with Alex lifting and holding his top leg, holding him open, letting him stroke nice and firm against Michael’s prostate. In no time at all, Michael starts rolling back, chasing that <em>fullness </em>inside him. He goes quiet except for the occasional tiny sob, his mouth hanging open, tongue darting out to lick the corner of his lips every few seconds.</p>
<p>“I love you,” Alex gasps, hopelessly inadequate, but at least it’s <em>something, </em>“I love you, Michael, I’ve got you, I’ll do anything—”</p>
<p>And Michael tosses his head back onto Alex’s shoulder, trying to nuzzle into his neck but not able because of the angle, so Alex cups his jaw and holds him tight, tries to secure him with his hands and with his cock, the steady rhythm of his hips, that thing Michael says he <em>needs.</em></p>
<p>He backs up that claim a second later, coming with a keen Alex might not have heard if it wasn’t directly in his ear.</p>
<p>“Ah, ah, more, don’t stop—” He claws at Alex’s hip when his pace stutters.</p>
<p>“Okay. I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Alex repeats in a breathless murmur. That floral scent is all around them now, and Alex can’t, can’t tell if it’s affecting him too or not, thoughts all scattered regardless from love and fear and need.</p>
<p>“So good, Alex—” Michael’s whole body shudders against him, and he can’t, he can’t have come again already—can he? “—So good, fuck, I need, fuck, thank you, thank you—"</p>
<p>Alex buries his face in the back of Michael’s neck and bites down as he comes, spills inside Michael who sobs with relief when Alex reaches down and lets Michael fuck his hand, all slick from the constant stream of precum wetting his dick, and Alex stays inside him just in case it helps at all—and he thinks it must, for all Michael can’t seem to decide whether he wants to jerk his hips forward to chase a thin, desperate relief or if he wants to thrust himself back, fuck himself on Alex’s cock until his muscles can barely even move. It hurts a little as Alex starts to soften—physically, then, not affected by this <em>thing </em>like Michael is—but Alex stays in as long as he can, until he slips out naturally.</p>
<p>Michael comes <em>again, again </em>with a whimper and seconds later, hand fumbling down to bat Alex’s away as he rubs himself, so hard it must hurt, and Alex grips his wrist to make him stop—he’ll do this himself, whatever it takes to get Michael through this. At least, at least it starts to feel like the last time—the tension starts to melt from Michael’s muscles, his movements less jerky and desperate.</p>
<p>“Still, Michael.” Alex says, voice steady and low. Michael shudders and shudders under his hand, his breath hisses quick and shallow between his teeth. His eyes are hooded, unfocused.</p>
<p>Alex has to do something, soothe him somehow. Throwing his leg over top of Michael’s, he rolls them so Alex is on top, blanketing Michael’s entire body, holding him down chest to back. He folds Michael’s hands in front of him and traps them there over his sternum with one of his own, the other one traveling down Michael’s body, rubbing and stroking him as he goes, to fist around his red and swollen cock and stroke him off slow and firm with plenty of slick to minimize friction on his abused flesh. It’s an awkward angle, Alex’s wrist bent to keep from rubbing Michael’s sensitive flesh against the scratchy, sweat-soaked sheets, and Michael can’t manage anything other than short, miserable groans, but at least it stops the shaking, Michael going limp in Alex’s restrictive hold.</p>
<p>Gentle but firm, Alex brings Michael off again. His skin is feverish, sweat sticking their bodies together, but his breathing seems to even out, hitching but deep enough to fill his lungs, and Alex lets go of his dick to rest that hand against his chest instead, feeling the rhythm of his lungs and heart.</p>
<p>“That’s it,” he murmurs into the soft skin behind Michael’s ear, “that’s it, you’re okay, it’s going to be okay.”</p>
<p>“’M sorry,” Michael whispers. His eyes flutter, but no other part of him moves. Alex can practically feel the aching exhaustion in his bones, a sympathetic echo in his own.</p>
<p>“No apologies.”</p>
<p>“Didn’t want to force you—”</p>
<p>“Stop,” Alex orders, hugging him even tighter. “I came here willingly; I helped you willingly. If anyone was forced, it was you.” He lets a soft kiss linger on the back of Michael’s neck, breathes him in, searching for any more traces of that strange, cloying scent. It’s faint, now, almost entirely faded, and Alex breathes out a sigh of relief, sending cool air fanning out across Michael’s overheated skin. He feels Michael shake his head a fraction of an inch, the only answer he gets.</p>
<p>He wants to say a thousand things and hold Michael down just like this until he believes him. Things like <em>I will always be here </em>and <em>you will never suffer alone again </em>and <em>you are mine to care for. </em>He can’t, though, tongue trapped on the back of his teeth out of fear of speaking wrong and ripping the delicate stitches holding Michael together. All he can do is try to <em>show </em>him.</p>
<p>They lay together for a while, Alex counting his breaths so Michael can match him, waiting to see if the fever has passed. Michael dozes lightly under Alex’s watchful eye; he twitches awake every time Alex shifts in bed, so Alex stays as still as he can, as steady and careful and grounding.</p>
<p>An hour passes until Alex gently nudges him, and he comes awake with a quiet whine. The overwhelming arousal hasn’t come back, and when Michael half-rolls to face Alex, his eyes are glassy with exhaustion but lucid at last.</p>
<p>“You need to hydrate,” Alex says. “I’m going to get up, okay? I’ll be right back.”</p>
<p>Michael swallows and nods. But when Alex pulls away and cold air pours into the new gap between their bodies, he can’t choke back an unhappy, wounded noise that sends a dagger into Alex’s heart. He turns away so Michael can’t see the look on his face, tears unexpectedly springing to his eyes.</p>
<p>Gritting his teeth against the wave of emotion, he bends over and rolls the liner and sock over his stump, reattaching his leg. Will things ever just be fucking fair for them? Can they get a year, six months without hurting, without having to trust one another to fit their pieces back together? The emotion hits him now, in the aftermath, because of course it does—without suffering in his hands to solve, he is raw and inadequate. He busies himself at the sink, fills a tall glass with cool water, then basin with warm and soap. When he turns around, Michael is sitting curled but upright in the center of his bed.</p>
<p>“You can go, if you need to go,” he offers.</p>
<p>It feels like a rejection. It feels like old grief, a worried scab. It feels like a brand-new heartbreak, the recognition in him of a life where no one’s ever stayed to wade through the debris to find him and bring him home.</p>
<p>“I am right where I need to be,” Alex responds. He tries for confidence and falls short, voice wavering, but he sets his shoulders back all the same. He holds out the glass of water, and Michael takes it, drains it quickly, and sets it aside.</p>
<p>Alex’s breath catches in his throat, then, when Michael reaches out and winds his arms around his thigh, pulls him in, rests his forehead just above his hip and sighs all the tension out of his body. Gently, so gently, Alex rests a hand on top of his matted curls.</p>
<p>“I’m going to clean you up,” Alex says. “You don’t have to do anything, okay? Your bed is already wrecked, and we can fix that tomorrow. I’m taking you home with me tonight. Understood?”</p>
<p>And Michael just nods, stays pliant and willing to go wherever Alex puts him, only making soft sounds of complaint when Alex puts him on his back to wash between his legs where everything is oversensitive. It helps, in a desperately relieving way that Alex can’t look too hard at right now, to have Michael so trusting and obedient under his hands. To take care of him. He washes sweat and come and lube and tears from Michael’s skin, and he imagines washing away things that are less easily remedied. Like the sound of pleasure turning into fear and pain; like not knowing how long Michael was hurting before Alex even knew; like the desperate whining urge at the back of his skull to take him away, lock him up somewhere nothing can hurt him ever again—</p>
<p>He loses those things, or tries to, in the soft slide of fabric against skin, in the light scent of soap and the contented hum Michael makes when Alex strokes his hair. By the time they’re both dry and getting dressed again, he’s—settled back into his bones, a bit, and feeling more himself.</p>
<p>The drive back to Alex’s cabin will be a long and cold one, so Alex wraps Michael up in his own clothes and a clean blanket from the truck, hoping it will be enough.</p>
<p>When Michael curls up in the passenger seat, eyes closed, collar tugged over his mouth and nose to capture any lingering scent, Alex drives on, starting to think that he might be.</p>
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